


Little Black Book

by chickenwingbandit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, M/M, Mood Swings, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sassy Draco, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-10 10:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11125443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickenwingbandit/pseuds/chickenwingbandit
Summary: The last thing Harry Potter wanted to see after the battle of Hogwarts was Draco Malfoy. So, of course, with his luck, he found himself sharing a workspace with him on a daily basis. Their relationship began on neutral terms, naturally, considering they had both saved each other's lives a handful of times and Harry had testified for both Draco and his mother at their trial, but with that grew acquaintanceship, and then Draco's swift and inevitable descend back into insufferableness. Draco had turned messing with Harry into a sport; some sort of twisted game at which he excelled in more than he ever would at even his own profession. Draco's incessant teasing almost began feeling familiar to him, but when his vexatious tendencies seem to come to a sudden halt Harry finds himself missing the arrogant git he had grown so used to spending his days in an ill-lit office with.





	1. Peas

“Twenty-one… twenty-two… twenty-three…” Harry’s clenched fist turned white around his quill that was bending further and further within his calloused palm. His grip increased in tightness at every small _thud_ against the back of his skull, the fragile feather now on the verge of snapping right in half.

 

When Harry was offered a job at the ministry immediately after the battle of Hogwarts, declining had never even crossed his mind. It had been his dream job the moment he had discovered what an auror even _was_ , so he and Ron didn’t hesitate to accept. Throughout all of orientation the two had big expectations for their future as partners and all the excitement to come. They had even thought up how their office would be decorated: posters of their favourite Quidditch teams, a table for wizard’s chess, desks placed face to face for easy conversations during late night shifts; pulling all-nighters and catching the wizarding world’s deadliest criminals every other week.

 

They had discovered rather quickly that that wasn’t the case. They had expected little to no action as aurors in training, but when they were informed they’d begin their careers almost exclusively filling out paperwork and fetching coffee their new job offers seemed less and less tempting. They had such a glorified image in their minds of what the job would be like they never bothered to consider the steps they’d have to take and the hard work they’d have to put in to reach that position. To them it was merely stakeouts and exhilarating chases through dark alleyways.

 

Now, Harry could manage simple filing and paperwork for a few months. That wasn’t his biggest issue; his problem was with his partner. When their first day of work started rapidly approaching the long-time best friends were eager to build a career together, only to discover that they hadn’t been paired up as it was seen as a _distraction_. For the first time in Harry’s life since he had discovered magic he wouldn’t have Ron or Hermione at his side to help, which overwhelming to say the least. Instead, he got something _even better_ (sarcastically, of course): Draco Malfoy. Because who _wouldn’t_ rather spend the majority of their adult life with the boy who tormented them for nearly 6 years? Sounded _absolutely delightful_ to him.

 

When the news had been brought to their attention for the first time they both managed to be respectful and professional, even mustering an uncomfortable handshake that seemed to make Draco scowl– and Harry was pretty certain why shaking hands would give him such discomfort, considering their first ever encounter so many years ago. But after that things seemed to fall in place _exactly_ how you’d expect it; Malfoy vaguely threatened Harry, told him _not to get in his way_ or to _keep his space_ from him, followed by him listing off an assortment of premeditated rules that would apply when sharing an office with him, making Harry wonder in horror if he would give such a harsh greeting if he would have gotten a stranger as a partner.

 

Their office was _small_ , and that was coming from the point of view of someone who had lived in a cupboard for over 10 years. It consisted simply of two tattered desks pushed against the walls perpendicular to each other, a dilapidated brown leather sofa across the room, and arbitrarily scattered potted plants as an attempt to give an alfresco feel to the otherwise windowless room. Draco had immediately set up his stuff at the desk across the door, leaving Harry to the far older one parallel to the couch. The melamine had been chipped away at the edges of the table and certain drawers were missing knobs, so there was no questioning why Draco had chosen the almost brand new one.

 

They spent the first month pretending the other wasn’t there and minded their own business; they wouldn’t dare do as much as ask to borrow a quill, they were in no way on speaking terms. Once that became too tedious and complicated Harry suggested a truce, to which Draco pridefully declined and mocked his offer despite his painful attempts at friendliness (or decentness, which was just about the closest Draco ever got to friendly). But the thing is, the closer people get to you the more comfortable they’ll feel showing you their true self. Except Draco’s true self was a twat. Only six months after the debut of their professional relationship Draco had taken a liking to finding the most ways he could possibly irritate Harry within a single work day.

 

“Fifty-six… fifty-seven… Oh, that time I got it in your coffee cup, is that a miss or bonus points?”

 

And today it was apparently seeing how many peas he could throw at the back of Harry’s head before things started getting violent. At a particularly sharp pain in his neck after a considerably heavier object was thrown at him he stood up abruptly, tipping his chair over with the back of his legs. “Malfo-!” he began to shout before he was suddenly cut off by something hitting the back of his throat, gagging and spitting it out.

 

Draco burst out laughing almost instantly and leaped off of the couch and shouted excitedly “Oh Merlin!” the pale boy wheezed. “Close your mouth, Potter. At this point you’re practically begging for it.” He patted Harry’s cheek with no gentleness whatsoever as he strode by him, cocky as ever, and lifted his chair back in its rightful spot with a halfhearted wave of his loosely gripped wand. Harry absently noticed the entire pea still in its casing laying on the floor, what was obviously the heavy thing that had hit him. “That’s definitely a new record,” he stated while pulling something out of his regularly locked drawer.

 

Harry lifted his head in intrigue. “What is that?” he sighed hesitantly while sitting back in his rolling chair. Nine times out of ten you don’t want to know what Malfoy is hiding in his desk, because he will _very_ freely tell you and you will _not_ like the answer.

 

The cheek-splitting smirk that formed on his pale, pointed face led him to believe he shouldn’t have asked. “ _So_ glad you asked!” He capered over and sat himself right on Harry’s desk, directly over all of his newly filled forms. The man winced as he imagined all of the still-wet ink that must be completely illegible by now. Draco presented to Harry a small leather-bound book with the word “Potty” written on it surrounded by heart-shaped stickers. Harry was already not enjoying this, throwing Draco an unimpressed glare. The blonde crosses his legs and opens the small book that began with a very detailed index before quickly skipping over and beginning to read titles from each page. “How many peas thrown at Potter’s head in one sitting,” he stopped to mark down today’s score and adding the date next to it in his sophisticated loopy cursive. “How many screws I can remove from your desk without you noticing,” he continued nonchalantly.

 

“What?” Harry gasped in horror, backing his chair up to look at his wobbling desk. Draco, however, seemed totally unfazed at the fact that his current seat could collapse at any moment beneath him.

 

“How early I can manage to piss Potter off- oh, I believe today is a new record as well,” he added pleasantly as he brought the journal up to his face to write the current time, which– to Harry’s astonishment– was only 9:28AM. It was amazing how slow a day with Malfoy went by, it was his own personal daily hell. “How many times Potter lost all respect for himself…” he trailed off, flipping through the pages in boredom.

 

“Excuse me?” Harry asked, offended, raising an eyebrow at the taller boy as he crossed his arms over his chest. “When exactly did that happen?”

 

“Every morning you show up to work with those ridiculous buns,” Draco scoffed haughtily while brushing a strand of long curly hair away from Harry’s face with a rough wave of his hand.

 

“My hair gets in my face sometimes!” Harry tries to defend himself but can’t ignore the heat rising in his cheeks from the insult. It wasn’t the first time someone had mocked the girlish hairstyle he sometimes wore when working late, hunched over stacks of paperwork.

 

Draco leans forward a bit “Then _cut it_ ,” he snaps back quickly. “You look like a girl.” With that final remark, he jumps off his desk gracefully and strides back over to his desk. Draco’s hair wasn’t exactly the shortest either, but it wouldn’t be the first time he insults someone without taking his own self into consideration first.

 

“Ginny likes it…” Harry grumbled. Besides, why should _he_ care what Malfoy thinks anyway? His girlfriend’s opinion should matter more than someone who used to _bully_ his girlfriend.

 

“ _Ginny likes it_ ,” Draco mocks, imitating his voice. “And why on earth should you take _hair_ advice from a _Weasley_?”

 

“So you’re suggesting I take hair advice from a _Malfoy_? I’d much prefer having messy hair than have a head covered in grease, you slimy prat!” Harry hissed heatedly. He realized a little late that that insult wasn’t exactly valid since Draco had stopped slicking his hair back since 5 th year, but it was memorable enough for greased hair to be easily associated with their family name.

 

Draco narrowed his eyes and gasped, insulted. “My hair is worth more than your house, Potter,” he scoffed and spun around overdramatically in his chair.

 

Harry knew it wasn’t a big deal when Draco got upset, he’d go back to being bothersome shortly. That was just how it was for them now, this had become their life and they’d both just have to grow up and endure it.

 

That was much easier said than done.


	2. Rain

 

Draco didn’t speak to Harry after that minor argument until four days later. They had to work the night shift on a Friday so naturally, neither of them were in a very good mood, but Harry knew things were slightly off when Draco came into work late for the first time since they began working together. He was usually very punctual and only slacked off while _at_ work, but that was only because he got his work done _weeks_ earlier than Harry did and would rather nap on the couch than do the smallest amount of work if he wasn’t being paid for it. So Harry was understandably surprised to see him stumbling into the office, tie undone and rain-soaked hair dripping onto the carpet. Draco merely glanced at Harry with distaste and tossed his briefcase down next to his desk, falling face first onto the couch.

 

“You’re late.” Harry pointed out with a smirk, almost looking forward to teasing him all night for his disastrous entrance. There wasn’t much to do during the night shift than banter, and he knew if he didn’t initiate an argument Draco would try to begin one by singing improvised, off-key songs about him for the first hour of their shift like last time. The only one that really stuck in his mind was ‘ _Potter has a fat butt’,_ but only because that particular song was accompanied by Draco whacking him from behind with a folder each time he stood up. During the day he could formulate proper insults but night shifts were far more unbearable because a childish Draco Malfoy was a thousand times worse than his usual egotistical self.

 

The tousled head of white-blond hair whipped backwards as he sat up “A fact of which I’m quite fucking aware of, Potter,” Draco snarled brutishly.

 

Harry hummed softly in acknowledgement, unfazed by his tone. He had gotten used to how bitchy Draco became this late at night, and he would only get worse if the conversation continued like this. “I take it you had a bad evening?” Harry spun around in his chair to face him, taking in his features. Draco had always been very concerned about his appearance and up until recently he had never looked anything but infinitely conceited, with his posh robes and slicked back hair. When he had stopped using product in his hair he kept it fairly short and well kept, but with the stress of the job he had recently let it grow out, which had become the sole feature of his that wasn’t _absolutely faultless_. But tonight, his personal standards had plummeted; his skin looked worse than usual and it was clear how terrible his day had been going, which gave Harry the slightest feeling of delight. _He deserves it for what he puts me through on a daily basis,_ he thought.

 

“Oh really? An _astute_ observation, Potter. Magnificent.” Draco was now doing the unsettling sardonic smile he did when he was so mad he was borderline hysteric. “What gave it away? Hm?”

 

“That’ll teach me to try and empathize with you,” he chortled with amusement. “Now relax for even _one minute_ and tell me what happened.” Harry had overheard a conversation between Draco and a coworker—not that he was eavesdropping, he had just grown accustomed to hiding behind walls and listening to whispered conversations—and knew that he had a dinner arranged with his parents, and after hearing several outrageous stories about the Malfoy family meals he was eager to hear what could’ve possibly gone wrong this time.

 

“I have nothing to tell you, I’m _fine_ ,” he snapped and dropped his head back down into the armrest. Always such a dramatic.

 

“Seriously, Malfoy?” Harry watched him in disbelief with a raised eyebrow. He seriously doubted he was ‘ _fine_ ’. “C’mon, you look terrible.”

 

Draco turned his face into the cushion to look at him. “You know I love when you talk dirty to me, Potter,” he said sarcastically with a blank expression. “But frankly I’m not in the mood at the moment.”

 

“Was it your parents?” Harry asked dumbly.

 

Draco stared at him incredulously for long enough for Harry to realize his mistake, which was to be testing Draco’s patience right now. “Really?” He asked slowly, speaking to him like he was lower than dirt.

 

“Shut it, Malfoy,” he groaned. “I should’ve just let you burn in that fire,” he adds quietly, but not quietly enough for Draco to miss it and burst out laughing.

 

“Oh _please_! You and I both know you lay awake each night reminiscing of a time where I had my arms wrapped around you, oh so helpless,” he taunts, laying back against the couch and draping his arm over his face theatrically. “Drenched in sweat, high off of the thrill of facing death.”

 

Harry watched in unbelieving amusement. “If you receive sexual exhilaration from almost dying I’m _pretty_ sure you need to have someone take a look at your mental stability.”

 

“And _I’m_ pretty sure you’re having near death experiences wrong,” he jokes with a hint of a grin, meaning he must’ve been cheering up. That was a good indication for Harry, who had to spend the rest of night with him and maybe even the next day if they got no work done—which they usually didn’t. “And if you _must_ know, yes, it’s my parents. They’re exhausting,” he breathes out heavily.

 

“Ah yes, that’s very relatable to me,” Harry jokes. Being able to kid about it was a sign of how far he had come concerning his parents’ death, and judging by his laughter he assumed dead parent jokes were Malfoy’s level of humour so it played out well.

 

When he had finished giggling darkly at the joke Malfoy sighed deeply and went back to wallowing in self-pity. “They’re just so frustratingly obtuse! It’s like speaking to a brick wall. There’s this _girl_ they’re trying to convince me to pursue, and I’ve never even met her. I don’t want to, either. She sounds absolutely dreadful.”

 

Harry paused, confused at that statement because he had always been under the impression Malfoy was… _‘not interested’_ in women. “I’m sorry, aren’t you…? Uh…” he trailed off, unable to say it just in case he was completely wrong.

 

“Gay? Extremely. But I could shout it from the rooftop down to them—which I have, and they would still pretend not to notice. They could walk in on me and another bloke— _which they have_ , and then ask me over dinner if I have a girlfriend yet.” He rolls his eyes as he speaks, loosening his tie and throwing it off. “They’re more in denial than you.”

 

“Me? What am I in denial about?” he chuckled, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

“ _Please!”_ He says for what must be the millionth time since they’ve started working together. “Cho, _Ginny…_ You do realize you’re almost as gay as I am, don’t you? I can’t possibly be the only one who sees this.”

 

Harry’s face heats up and his jaw drops, scandalized at the allegation. “I’m not-! Why would you think…” he stutters out pitifully. “I like women.” He speaks firmly but his expression is hesitant. Draco stays seated with his arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at him accusingly. “… _and_ … men, sometimes. Not all the time. Not really, just a bit. I prefer girls, I’m just saying I wouldn’t _mind_ being with a guy-“ Harry rambles on messily before Draco cuts him off to save him from his own mouth.

 

“ _Alright_ , Potter, you can stop mumbling like a bloody idiot. It’s reaching pathetic.” Draco continues to tease him with a smirk, satisfied at how easy it was to get something like that out of him. Any gay person would be able to tell in an instant that Harry Potter was about as straight as Ron’s wand in second year. However, the rest of the population was utterly infatuated with him, consisting mainly of oblivious women too caught up in the hero’s looks to notice his unashamed attraction to men. “Why are you with that Weasley girl then?”

 

“Hey, I love Ginny.” Harry was getting defensive at this point which was only encouraging Draco to further upset him. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

 

“I’ve been through a hell of a lot with Pansy Parkinson, doesn’t mean I’ll marry her. History isn’t the same as chemistry, you’re just attached to her because you’ve faced similar traumas.” Draco was speaking as casually as ever, shrugging his shoulders and pretending not to notice how Harry was fuming at this point. In his opinion, everything he was saying was truthful, he had seen the two together at an office party and they seemed miserable to him. It really wasn’t any of his business, but that had never stopped him before.

 

Harry swayed in his chair, looking down at the tarnished carpet for an entire minute in contemplation. The silence was getting tense, but Draco found himself typically unable to feel discomfort in situations like these so it didn’t throw him off in the slightest. “Who is the girl they’re trying to set you up with? Your parents, I mean.”

 

Draco didn’t mention the change of subject as much as he wanted to since he was thrilled to be back on the subject of himself. “I forgot her name. I should probably learn it if I’ll be marrying her…” he chuckles grimly.

 

“Marrying her? But you said you were gay?”

 

Draco rolls his eyes at Harry’s naivety. “And? Do you think my family will care about that? It’s a wealthy family, we need to try to brighten our image. _‘Bring honour back to the Malfoy name’_ or whatnot. And if the answer risks affecting my happiness, that’s not my problem.” He was seated at his desk now, glancing at the black notebook sitting in the center of it.

 

“Malfoy that’s… _terrible_. You’re a bigger idiot than I thought if you’re going to go through with this.” Harry shook his head in disbelief and ran his fingers through his unkempt hair.

 

“At least I won’t be the only one in a loveless relationship,” he snapped back. His eyes widened after he realized what he had said; he hadn’t intended to be so cruel, sometimes it just slipped out. To his surprise, Harry didn’t seem to upset at his remark. He simply sighed and sat back in his chair. “I guess we’re both in the same boat here then… Might as well just date each other,” he teased.

 

“Shut up, Malfoy…” Harry grumbled, turning around in his seat to focus on his work.

 

Draco sighed deeply and opened the small notebook, flipping to a bookmarked page and striking a line through four others; the page was filled almost completely with lines and a number total at the bottom. The lines had just reached 65 on the page which was entitled ‘Times Potter has been oblivious to my advances’.


	3. Wet Shoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't too sure about this chapter, so please give me any feedback possible!

When the days got shorter and the weather got colder things between Harry and Ginny seemed to swiftly erupt and then gradually fizzle. They’d argue almost every night, and with the added weight of Draco’s tireless vexing on his shoulders, it took almost nothing to make him snap. Something as small as a towel left on the bathroom floor could cause an hour-long argument. When they had grown tired of constantly arguing they got silent and distant; the only words spoken between them were often related to what they’d be eating that night for dinner. Harry’s miserableness seemed to blend in well with everyone else’s winter depression, but it was still just enough to set off a certain Slytherin’s suspicions.

 

They had been called in once again for a last-minute night shift which had upset Ginny who had already arranged dinner reservations with Ron and Hermione. His friends understood since Hermione was used to similar situations with Ron concerning his job and it wasn’t a very difficult restaurant to get a table at. However, Ginny seemed to feel as though Dumbledore himself had risen from his grave and slapped her upside the head. She claimed Harry was intentionally trying to spend less time with her, and then she accused him of an affair despite reading the letter over Harry’s shoulder the entire time and very clearly saw the ministry’s seal on the front and Kingsley’s signature at the end. Harry had no time to humour her insane accusations and left without another word.

 

He burst into their shared office mere seconds late; the blond was already seated at his desk, presumably pretending to do work during the 15-minute period Kingsley walked by all the offices to survey productivity before shutting his blinds and promptly falling asleep on his desk.

 

Draco spun around in his chair and immediately took notice of Harry’s gloomy expression. He narrowed his eyes slightly and asked, “Why does your face look like that?”, Draco’s way of asking what was wrong without looking like he cared.

 

Harry rolled his eyes and let out a groan in response, dropping his briefcase onto his desk harshly. “Why are you asking, Malfoy, you don’t care.”

 

“Don’t sulk. And no, frankly I do not care because this doesn’t concern me in any way but I know if you don’t tell me I’ll have to endure your pity party all night long and I am _not_ looking forward to that.” Draco unlocked his drawer and retrieved his notebook again, though Harry wasn’t sure why. “Was it the Weaslette again?”

 

Harry would normally correct or scold Draco for speaking poorly of his girlfriend but he didn’t have the strength or desire to tonight. “Yes…” he admitted with a sigh. Astonishingly, Draco was a rather good confidante when it came to venting about Ginny since he could probably—and Harry doesn’t doubt that he hasn’t—fill a book with things he could say to speak ill of the Weasley’s.

 

The moment Harry had replied Draco had flipped to a page and was already writing vigorously. Harry’s initial reaction was to feel hurt that he wasn’t listening, which quickly blossomed into anger when he realized he was probably writing about him.

 

“What are you doing?” he scoffed, annoyed. Draco was unreadable, you could never get a read on his thoughts or emotions even when he was at his most vulnerable state (which Harry had learned was usually during their night shifts because Draco would most likely be both exhausted and drunk at the same time).

 

“That’s the eighth time you’ve fought with her this week,” he mumbled, not answering Harry’s question as per usual. “I suggest intense couples counseling.”

 

“ _You_ need counseling…” Harry retorted childishly.

 

“Don’t get moody with me. And I _do_ go to therapy, thank you very much. Are you saying you don’t? You need it more than anyone else I’ve met.” He shrugged as he spoke like it was a well-known fact, which it kind of was.

 

“And _why_ do you say that?”

 

Draco spins around in his seat once again, looking at Harry incredulously. “You must be joking,” he said dumbfoundedly. “You’re practically the poster child for post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m surprised the therapists haven’t been outside your front door with battering rams all these years. They’d probably have a good wank to your psychiatric reports.”

 

Harry grimaced and sat down. “Why do you always have to be so gross?” Draco merely smirked in response, and Harry scoffed once more in disgust. “ _Besides_ , Ginny and I won’t be needing counseling.”

 

“Oh, so you’ve broken things off? Wonderful, it was about time. I’ve never liked that girl, she was always so strange-“ Harry had to cut Draco off before he said something he’d regret.

 

“We didn’t break up!” he interrupted urgently. “It’s just… a small rough patch in our relationship. It’ll pass…” he finished hesitantly as if he really didn’t believe himself.

 

“Yeah, okay, _sure_ ,” Draco chortled in disbelief. “You come into work every night like you’ve walked through fire, it’s rather pathetic. You should just switch to men.” And with that Draco spun back around in his chair, looking down at his leather-bound notebook rather than his unfinished reports. It was a rather uncomfortable finishing point, but Harry knew very well Draco was incapable of feeling uncomfortable.

 

“Why? You interested?” he teased, expecting at least a bit of retaliation from Draco.

 

Draco let out a small disgruntled sigh before speaking. “ _You interested_ is not and will never be a real sentence. If you wish to speak to someone as well-worded as I, I suggest you expand your vocabulary.”

 

Harry’s smirk only grew at Draco’s obvious change of subject. “Why are you avoiding the question? Does Draco Malfoy have a thing for the Golden Boy?” he continued to taunt.

 

Draco now turned around in his chair, looking at him in offense and disbelief. “Don’t flatter yourself, Potter,” he spat. “I have standards higher than your pea-sized brain can count.”

 

Harry was taken back by the sudden outburst but he knew not to take anything he said to heart. He considered the part of Draco’s advice that _wasn’t_ offensive and realized he might have a point. Harry had never been good with women, he was raised with boys, he didn’t know how to communicate with girls. He always found ways to upset them without trying to and when he tried to speak to them his words were jumbled and stuttered. Harry and Ginny had gone through so much together and he felt like he owed it to the Weasley’s to be with her when really their relationship always felt like a sibling sort of love. He couldn’t be sure how Ginny felt but he knew she was unhappy… It would be doing them both a favour, wouldn’t it...?

 

“Actually, you’re right, Malfoy. I’m going to break up with her.”

 

Draco spun back around in his seat, his expression plastered with confusion. “What?”

 

“I’ll be right back—tell Kingsley I’m at the loo if he asks!” Harry calls out, already sprinting out of their office and leaving Draco with their paperwork.

 

“Wait you didn’t-!” Draco began, noticing all of the things Harry had left behind. “Prat…”

 

~~~~~~~

 

“-and don’t come back here or I _swear to Merlin_ you’ll never walk again!” Ginny finished shouting, throwing the last of his clothing out the window before slamming it shut.

 

Harry hadn’t realized how bad his timing had been, nor had he remembered how recent their last fight was. He knew she’d be upset but this was a whole new level of anger he had never seen with Ginny, she was normally such a shy, quiet girl.

 

The moment she heard the words leave his mouth she began throwing his possessions roughly into duffle bags and tossing them from the top floor window into the snow roadside below before she got bored of that and resorted to throwing piles of clothes straight out. His nice suits were drenched from the cold slush and his spare glasses had shattered against the pavement. It was a dramatic reaction, but Harry knew it was well-deserved from how he had worded the not-so-delicate breakup.

 

_“I don’t understand, what are you saying, Harry?”_

_“Well… after dating you for a while I think I might want to switch to men for a while.”_

Yeah. Very easy to have that sentence misinterpreted. It did lift a huge weight off of his shoulders and then proceeded to add even more. Like: where was he going to live from now on? How would this affect his relationship with the Weasley’s? Would Ron be upset with him? Upset enough to deny him a place to sleep for the night? Not to mention the literal weight of 6 duffle bags and backpacks slung over his shoulders. He was now beginning to regret entering through the fireplace since Ginny surely wouldn’t let him back inside their house which was already in a rather sketchy neighbourhood, he couldn’t go knocking on doors and asking to borrow theirs.

 

Which left Harry with one option; walk all the way into town and back to the office in his drenched shoes with everything he owned on him. That _definitely_ wouldn’t result in a mugging. His belongings were already slipping out of the unzipped bags into cold puddles and muddy ditches. He had to repeatedly set his bags down in the cold snow and shove everything back into each one and then attempting to close the zip over the overfilled sacks to no avail. He was helpless, tired, and cold but he had no choice but to go back to work before people noticed he was gone.

 

Harry wanted to draw as little attention to himself as possible, which was difficult when you were dragging mud into the lobby of an important company with your possessions hung over your back like a homeless man. Lucky for him it was already 10 o’clock and most people had gone home at that point.

 

Draco had been finishing his reports for the night when Harry walked in and when he saw him he was absolutely delighted at how terrible he looked at the moment. The blond did a brief scan of his appearance before erupting with laughter.

 

“Oh gods!” he giggled loudly. Harry looked around the room to avoid looking at the man, already annoyed at how much he would be tormented for this. “This is my favourite day…” he breathed out when he had finished chortling at him, wiping away his tears of enjoyment. “I take it she didn’t react as you anticipated?”

 

“Oh really, what makes you think that?” Harry grumbled, tossing his things on the floor. The carpet immediately darkened beneath them as the icy water seeped through it.

 

“Did she _actually_ kick you out? That’s hilarious.” Draco’s smirk was slowly driving Harry to madness. Did he really find Harry’s misfortune that comical?

 

“ _Yes_ … she did. And as soon as she tells Ron he’ll probably be pissed at me as well, so I’m pretty much royally fucked.” He sighed, hoping for some pity out of the small percentage of Draco that was human.

 

“Hotel,” Draco suggested with disinterest.

 

“Can’t afford it. Spent the last of my money on rent and we don’t get paid until Friday…” he trailed off, looking at the floor like a teary-eyed orphan.

 

Draco glanced up from his paperwork to Harry with an unreadable expression. “If you’re waiting for some sort of pity, you’re not going to get any from me.”

 

“C’mon, Malfoy, you’re my only option at this point. Just until I find somewhere to stay! Please!” Harry never thought he’d find himself begging Malfoy for something, especially not to stay the night at his house, so this was a new experience.

 

“I don’t take in strays,” Draco spoke blankly and turned back towards his desk.

 

“Dracoooo,” Harry whined.

 

“We are _not_ on a first-name basis,” Draco retorted.

 

Harry got down on the floor in his filthy pants, crawling towards Draco on his knees. “Malfoy, I am _begging_ you. You are the only thing standing in between me sleeping on a park bench.”

 

Draco looks down at him with a repulsed expression. Harry continues looking up at him pleadingly and he finally groans loudly in defeat. “Fine!” he shouts.

 

“Yes!” Harry whispers and stands up.

 

“No- only for _one_ night and then you’re out,” he continues before Harry can celebrate too much. He hated himself for even agreeing to this, but it was nearing pathetic and it was sickening him.

 

“You have a guest room, right?” Harry asked as he hauled his bags onto the old sofa. They piled up and the worn springs sunk under the weight of them.

 

“You may use the floor.”

 

Harry froze and turned back to look at him, praying he was joking. “You don’t have a couch…?” He knew Draco wasn’t always the kindest, but he couldn’t possibly be serious.

 

“I do. You may sleep on the floor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my question to anyone who may be reading this is whether or not you think I should keep going in this direction or scrap the chapter as a whole?


End file.
